What Hunts Me

Authors NoteThe year was 1915, The Great War was ramping up in Europe, the RMS Lusitania had been sunk by a German U-boat, Alexander Graham Bell completed the first transcontinental telephone call between New York City and San Francisco, the Ford Model-T and silent motion pictures were all the rage. Raggedy Ann, aspirin in tablet form, and processed cheese, as well as the milk carton were invented. America was steadily growing in population, and that population was on the move. In San Francisco, the Panama-Pacific International Exposition opened in February, an event that introduced many wonders to the United States and the world at large. The Lincoln Highway (also known as Highway 30) opened as America's first transcontinental automobile road, and today, much of that highway still exists. It was against this background that my grandfather, George H.M. McGrath, an eighteen-year-old recent high school graduate, decided to embark upon an epic adventure…he would ride his brand new truss frame Iver Johnson bicycle from Houtzdale, Pennsylvania to San Francisco, taking the newly opened Lincoln Highway. The journey would traverse over 2700 miles (some of which hadn't been completely developed roadway and was barely navigable) and take more than three months to complete. George wanted more than anything to see and witness the marvels of the Exposition, but he also wanted to see our beautiful country. George recorded this epic journey with letters home to his father and sister. Twenty-five of the original letters have survived to this date, and are proudly housed in our family archives. The majority of the letters were written on the hotel stationery where George stayed along the way. In many instances, the letterheads tell the story of our nation's younger, less sophisticated years in regards to the conveniences we all take for granted today: “Running Hot and Cold Water,” “Telephone in Every Room,” “Rates $2.00 per Night,” “Steam Heat and Electric Lights in Every Room,” “Large Automobile Yard.” My mother was the youngest of George's four children, and throughout my childhood she often told her father's story. I always found it fascinating, and even as a young child I thought it would make a wonderful foundation for a fictional tale; my mother agreed. When I started the Ghost Killer series, I didn't consciously name my main character George, and the fact that I'd moved to San Francisco (I grew up in Southern California), his final destination and the primary setting of the Ghost Killer series, isn't lost on me either. Perhaps it was destiny, perhaps it was my subconscious mind directing my actions…I'll probably never know for sure. In this book, I have used my grandfather's journey as the backdrop of George Sinclair's newest adventure as a ghost killer. I've followed my grandfather's route as closely as possible based on the surviving letters. I've used many of his comments as to what he saw and experienced, and where possible, I've depicted the hotels as they still stand today. There are quite a few haunted places along this route, some of which are true tales, some of which are complete figments of my imagination. Many of the hotel buildings no longer exist; however, with the assistance of several fantastic local historical societies, libraries, and historians, I've done my best to portray them as they are today or were in 1915. A special thank you to my cousin, Donald C. Tully, who compiled the letters into a book entitled Letters Home. This was an invaluable tool in writing this book as the majority of the surviving letters are difficult to read due to their age and the general writing style of our grandfather. Don was also a wonderful resource as he had done quite a bit of research regarding the route and the era in which our grandfather's journey took place. With his permission, I used portions of his introduction in Letters Home for my author's note. “You Easterners don't know anything about the West at all” - George H.M. McGrath, July 5, 1915 – Leading Hotel Ratcliff stationery, Central City, Nebraska